


Do Konsta Stroki

by monsterradio



Category: Captain America (Movies), captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Bucky is still kinda broken, Familiar!Bucky, Familiar!Clint, Feline!Bucky, He's just a dead douchebag, Hinted Hydra Steve, M/M, Magic AU, Mentioned Clintasha, Pierce is an assole, Pierce is still a douchebag, Witch!Steve, Witches and Familiars, witch!Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterradio/pseuds/monsterradio
Summary: 'Till the end of the line.*This story has been edited and redone!*





	Do Konsta Stroki

The backroads of Italy were, admittedly, very pretty. The full moon shone on the road, illuminating everything in sight, it made the headlights of the car Bucky stole almost obsolete. It was December, so most of the trees were empty, the snow fell in fat drifting flakes, clogging up the windshield and being brushed away before it could be a problem. If Bucky hadn't been in such a hurry, he might have stopped and enjoyed the scene, the way the world seemed to stop for a moment and let the snow drift, let the horrors of it all be covered in pristine white for just a little while.  
  
Bucky knew this area, or at least he did, once upon a seventy years ago, had laid waste to the Nazi forces, to Hydra hidden away in their hidey-holes with a release of magic so powerful, the whole of their Army camp, some ten miles back, felt it in their very bones. Bucky snorted at the memory, no one could look him or Steve in the eye for an hour when they came back to camp, Steve’s back covered in dirt and claw marks and a very prominent bite mark on Bucky’s neck.  
  
He tried not to get too far into his head, his memories still coming back in bits and pieces, and it made his head hurt sometimes if he wasn’t careful. It was going to be a long drive and he needed to stay focused.  
  
Still, with the drive ahead of him, he put the car in cruise, a handy little feature, and let himself sit back, and glanced in the rearview mirror. His eyes were tinged with gold, his teeth sharp, and on his flesh hand where it rested on the steering wheel, his nails had curved into wicked claws. He sighed harshly out of his nose, and licked his lips, careful not to cut himself on his fangs, and gripped the steering wheel harder, hearing the creak of the leather cover, the whine of the servos in his left arm.  
  
His magic was going haywire, his emotions too wild. He wasn’t losing control over his forms, not yet, this was as far as the transformation was going to go without his permission, but he could feel it building, the anger, the fear, the rise of magic that threatened to pull him under and drown him. He wouldn’t go down that path, not again, magic from anger led to dark things, death and destruction and a madness no one could cure. Like the Red Skull; his magic was fueled by anger, his own and his followers, and look where it got him, left in a pile of dust and scattered in the cosmos.  
  
Well, Bucky hadn’t been there for that; at that point, he had been missing an arm and stuck in some Hydra underground camp and being made to forget. But he knew something was keeping him alive, as Familiars never lasted long after their witch was killed, if they had one at all, and it wasn’t the cryogenic tanks or the spells or the medicines and drugs. The doctors and techs figured out he was a Familiar, but never pieced together that he was Captain America’s Familiar, and only thought he was unbound, still free to roam.  
  
It wasn’t until the day Captain America was found and defrosted, that they pieced it together that he had a witch at all, the star shape blazing on his right shoulder blade brighter than they'd seen it in seventy years. When Steve Rogers took his first breath in the new century, the Winter Soldier released a wave of magic so powerful it almost leveled the base they were holed up in.

They had sent him to kill Captain America, but Steve, beautiful powerful Steve, said his name, the one derived from his demon name, the one Steve had given him, and it was enough to knock his head on straight and figure out what the fuck was going on.  
  
It hadn’t been enough to break the temporary bond Pierce had over him, a pair of manacles with an etching of his temporary master’s name, but it was enough to wake him up, to put an idea in his mind that something was very wrong. It wasn’t until the helicarriers that Steve, during their tussle, reclaimed him as his own Familiar by breaking the manacles and there had been a strong surge of magic flowing through the both of them that they hadn’t felt since the 1940s. It was a feeling of orgasmic proportions, made them lost to the world until the helicarrier broke the water in the Potomac and Steve lost consciousness.  
  
No one bothered the soaking wet feline with the metal foreleg as it clung to Steve on the way to the hospital and refused to leave, swiping and hissing and, once, even going so far as to put a barrier spell around them. Steve would heal, he always did after the serum, and also the magic that flowed through him, through Bucky as well. It took about a week, but the moment his eyes were open, Bucky was on him again, purring as loud as a motorbike even in human form, and kissing Steve until the EKG screamed enough for a nurse to come, reveling in the memories that flowed and brought him back from the nameless Soldier HYDRA had made him into.  
  
They had started slow, they had to, with Bucky's snail-pace recovery; the nightmares and the moments of lapse where he’d stop and ask for orders or maintenance. Steve had invited him into his apartment, which of course Bucky was mad at, considering he’d temporarily killed their director Fury in the apartment, and the walls were thin, but in the end, it had been better. Bucky just hadn’t been ready to live with the rest of the Avengers team just yet. By six months, Bucky had nearly transitioned back into society, though mostly hung around Steve’s shoulders in his feline shape, a big fluffy Maine Coon after learning that witches and Familiars were celebrated now instead of hunted.  
  
It had been staggering, the difference between their time and the new one, and Steve had told him when he woke up from the ice, he’d blasted three people out cold and took off running, fearing that, Captain America or not, he’d be burned at the stake. It was Fury, with his odd magic aura that wasn’t a witch, wasn’t anything Steve ever knew, that had stopped him and explained that he didn’t have to run from his powers or hide them anymore. Instead, he could use his magic to help people, to fight in the field. Though, without Bucky, his magic had been sorely limited. It never seemed to stop him from joining the fight.  
  
And that hadn’t been the only thing that was different. During the war in the 30s and 40s, Bucky and Steve had to hide their relationship, but the seventy years of torture and ice never diminished the love they held for each other, and now they didn’t have to hide it anymore. The team certainly didn’t care and though physical relationships between a witch and their familiar were still taboo, it never stopped them.  
  
Within a year, Bucky was staying in the Tower with the rest of the team, picking fights with Sam and his familiar, Riley, and talking with Natasha, who he knew as a little girl in the Red Room. Tony rebuilt his arm, made it better, gave it a hologram to make it look and feel like skin, and was imbued with the transition magic for his feline form made it detachable, which was really handy, and made it his own, complete with Steve’s shield symbol on the shoulder. It was everything the Soviet one hadn’t been, it was new and as soon as it was attached, Bucky felt lighter, better, like he could take on the world.  
  
Everything was better, a year and a half flew by since that fateful day on the bridge and Bucky was happy. He had Steve with him, their shared energies doing wonders for missions, making each other stronger with every spell cast and every enemy downed. Bucky was becoming a symbol for amputee children everywhere, and they could see more and more witch and familiar couples starting to pop up.  
  
Then some cold December night; someone either really brave or really stupid, kidnapped Captain America.  
  
It was near a month ago, Bucky remembered clearly, the sudden, drop-all feeling of _wrong_ that made every hair stand on end and his gut twist until he’d blacked out and woke back up in the medical room, screaming that Steve was gone.  
  
_Something’s wrong. Someone has him. He’s too far. I can’t feel him._  
  
Within an hour of the disappearance, the team was rallied; Bruce had even flown in via helicopter from a quiet retreat in Fiji, joining Tony at the computer screens, scanning every single camera they possibly could hack into, while Sam called up favors from the VA. With Sam’s help, there were werewolves trying to track scents, vampires using their speed and memory tricks on shopkeepers where Steve had gone missing to figure out who knew what, the fae were on high alert, and every single creature Sam knew, including other witches were on the hunt. Even Hill and Fury, back from the dead, dusted off the first helicarrier and got a few loyalists together and searched from the skies. Bucky still didn’t trust them very much but was thankful for their help. Within a week, most of the military, active and ex, plus civilians, were scouring every city they could, which mostly ended up with dead ends.  
  
But Bucky? After a week of nothing, he had holed himself up in his and Steve’s shared bedroom, his tail swiping back and forth like a pendulum, glassy eyes closed as he reached out through their strained bond.  
  
It was a spell mostly forgotten about, only usable by a witch and their familiar who had a deep bond, spiritual and mental; They could see through each other’s eyes, could get a feel on where their other half was. It took immense concentration and was really a hit or miss kind of spell and it took him two days before it had finally connected and he was shocked back into his human form by something on Steve’s end.  
  
Steve was in pain, a lot of pain, and he could feel it in the back of his head, the dull throb that reminded him way too much of his time as Hydra’s pet. He tried not to focus on it, he knew where Steve was.  
  
And of all fucking places, it had to be Azzano. Bucky’s stomach roiled and he’d retched the moment he’d placed it because it was a place he would have rather left in his past.  
  
\--  
  
_He’d been rambling for god knows how long, his vision going in and out, his magic weakened, sapped and bound by the dampening cuffs. They knew he wasn’t human, but didn’t care; Zemo experimented on him anyway. The little Swiss bastard gave him a serum that made his veins burn, tested him time and time again, asked him how it all felt and wanted every detail as his body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out._  
  
_“Bucky? Oh, gods…” Steve’s voice was like water in the desert, sweet and perfect and god he’d missed it, but why was it here?_  
  
_His face appeared above him, all golden hair and pale skin and blue eyes, looking like some kind of angel and, fuck, did that mean Steve got sick and now they both were dead?_  
  
_“Steve?”_  
  
_“Yeah, Buck, it’s me. It’s Steve.”_  
  
_“Steve,” he’d said, grunting as the cuffs were ripped off in a surprising show of strength, his magic returning to him in a rush that made him gasp, crackling off his fingertips._  
  
_“Come on,” Steve urged as Bucky sat up, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead to stave off a sudden wave of vertigo. Steve hooked an arm under his and Bucky staggered slightly but shrugged out of this blond’s grip._  
  
_“Steve?” Now taking a final look at him, there was so much that was different. No longer five foot four and 95 pounds, the Steve in front of him was well over six foot, with muscles to spare, a three-pointed red, white and blue shield on his left arm._  
  
_“I thought you were dead,” breathed Steve._  
  
_Bucky snorted softly, “I thought you were smaller.”_  
  
_There was a hint of a smile, and Steve turned halfway, glancing out the door. “We gotta go, Buck, come on.”_  
  
_Down the hall they walked, well, Steve walked, Bucky staggered behind him. “What the hell happened to you?”_  
  
_Out of the shadows, a HYDRA goon appeared and, before Bucky could pull Steve back, the blond released an energy blast that shot the guy through the wall in a truly impressive explosion of concrete. Steve glanced back at him and smiled a little tightly._  
  
_“I joined the Army.”_  
  
_Bucky smacked him for being a smartass._  
  
\--  
  
Bucky shuddered back into the future as his tire ran over a stick, which splintered with a tremendous _crack_ , turning the steering wheel to straighten out the SUV where it had drifted off to the side in the dark back road.  
  
He really would rather have left this place burning in the past, since the pain and horrors associated with it still woke him up in the middle of the night.  
  
The only good thing that had taken place was while the smoke cloud curled sky high and the rescued men watched from the trees, Bucky pulled Steve off into the privacy of the woods, further out than the rest of the men and had begged his Captain to have him that night, as both a Familiar and a lover, begged him to fuck him like they had the night he had to leave Steve.  
  
The walk back had hurt, Steve’s everything had enhanced with Rebirth, his body, his magic, his endurance, and Steve, beautiful Steve, wrote the claiming spell across Bucky’s skin with slow drags of his lips, before it slammed into place and they both came so hard they passed out. Dum Dum Dugan had woken them up with a gunshot five feet from where they had dropped after their orgasms and had promised not to tell anyone. The pain had been so worth it.  
  
He owed the Howlies everything, keeping their relationship a secret, beyond the obvious best friends they acted towards the camp. Peggy knew, having caught them in the act once, but had promised to keep the scrawling on Bucky’s spine, the spell engraved to his very bone, and Steve’s on his right hip bone, as well as the physical relationship between the two of them a very highly guarded secret. It helped a little that Steve had somehow learned a perception field barrier spell, which had done wonders in the camps, but not so much when the Howling Commandos became just that, and the tight-knit group of men knew all about them.  
  
Bucky hit the brakes in the car and turned off the side of the road, the pull in his stomach having turned into a gut punch, a sure sign he was getting closer. He climbed out of the car, shouldered his rifle, checked the grenades and set out into the woods.  
  
They, HYDRA, had Steve drugged, which was really fucking hard to do, the times Bucky opened the vision between them, it was blurry and it swam in and out of focus. He could hear the sound of a heart monitor, beeping slowly, much too slow, Steve’s normal heart rate was like a rabbit, and his head hurt worse with every link like Steve was pushing him out without meaning to. But, whatever precautions they were using against Steve, Bucky wouldn’t be stopped that easily, the training he had, the power he held, nothing in the world would stop him.  
  
Shifting forms as he neared the warehouse, he slipped into the halls without an issue, and really, that should have told him something, nothing was ever that easy, but he supposed they were expecting a human, a team of agents, the Avengers, something other than a thirty-five pound feline with a metal foreleg and a vendetta.  
  
Looking back, Bucky knew his mistake, he should have been checking for traps, should have sent out a detection spell, found every agent there, but his mind was too focused, too caught up in finding Steve, getting Steve out.  
  
Which was why, he supposed, he found himself on his side, screaming and yowling as electricity coursed through him, making white dance in his vision and his muscles tense and his voice go hoarse before his eyes closed and the pain was muted.  
  
Cold hands stripped away his heavy tactical gear, his weapons, and his limbs felt too heavy to do anything to stop them. He retched as the scent of death wafted in his nose, but he hadn’t eaten in a few days, so nothing came up, but it lingered as he was shoved into a cold metal cage.  
  
He shivered as his vision cleared, and the sight of bars focused in. He was in a cage, a small one, maybe four feet in height, the silver-gray of the bars glinting at him and reminding him of a time he’d much rather forget, the times before Hydra stuck him in the electroshock chair and then later, the cryo-chambers. His metal arm was locked down by metal bars around his elbow, effectively keeping it straight by his side, and it seemed to be shut down completely, the fingers wouldn’t even twitch. In a moment of panic, he jerked his right arm, his right, to find it cuffed to the bar behind him, the runes tamping down his magic, making it hard to focus.  
  
Familiars were all magic, it was their life force, not just their power, but their entire being, was all magic, from the time they were born to the time when a witch claimed them, and the day they died, magic was everything. Having that tamped down, dampened and cut off from it, it was painful.

  
He could see Steve, though, sitting up in a stiff chair, his head back against the steel, shirtless, the runes tattooed over his chest pulsing with the slow heart rate that matched the gentle beeping of the EKG beside him. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling steadily, and his fingers twitched restlessly.  
  
“Steve!” he shouted, flinching as his voice was much louder than he’d thought, “It’s gonna be all right, I promise. The team is right behind me, I’ll get you home -” he let out a screech as electricity crawled its way through his body, and he spasmed against the cold metal with a whine. He coughed when it stopped, and he took stock of what he had on him.  
  
The black underwear he’d stolen from Steve’s side of the drawer, and a collar. A collar, not unlike the one he’d worn while Pierce had him, was locked tight around his throat, etched with runes where he could feel with his fingers. Only this one was worse. These sadistic assholes strapped a shock collar on him.  
  
The scent of death wafted through at the same time a set of footsteps echoed in the room.  
  
“Ah, the Winter Soldier,” now that was a voice he’d really rather forget, the cold cruel tone twisting his words to a confused blank slate that was starting to show signs of its past, corrupting the familiar into something usable. He remembered the crack of a palm against his face and an unfeeling “Wipe him and start over.” “When they said a familiar broke in to find Rogers, I was half expecting Barton, or - what was Wilson’s familiar again? - I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”  
  
“I thought Fury killed you.” Bucky spread his legs out in the cage, and the balls of his feet pressed against the other side, making his knees bend.  
  
“A lot of people thought that. But, you of all people know that death is just a temporary state. All you need is enough magic and you can live forever.” Bucky hissed softly as he watched the calves of some expensive suit pace around his cage.  
  
“Alexander fucking Pierce,” Bucky snarled out, “Do me an’ Steve a favor and go back to your expensive coffin. Fury sure paid a lot for it for a fucking traitor - Ahh!” He kind of regretted bad-mouthing Pierce, since it seemed the man himself had the remote for his collar. But then he thought about it. No, bad-mouthing Pierce was always worth it. But still, he had no idea how he survived with the electricity going through his head.  
  
“I really liked you when you didn’t talk so much, Barnes,” Pierce sneered back, turning and pacing another length.  
  
“Barnes-Rogers.”  
  
The squeak of Pierce’s shoe was loud in the quiet room, and it turned slightly, “What?”  
  
“My name, it ain’t just Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers.” The familiar gave a feral kind of smile, though Pierce couldn’t see him. The truth was, no one really knew about it beyond the Avengers team, the wedding private, the photos taken, printed and then deleted from all computers. The reception, however, the videos of that were still circulating YouTube.  
  
“How quaint.”  
  
Bucky snorted, “You smell like graveyard dirt. Who’d you get to dig you up? You got interns for that or did someone find Rumlow in whatever hole he’s hiding in?”  
  
“Shut your mouth, Familiar,” somehow, he made the term sound like an insult, “or I’ll knock you out like I’ve done your witch.”  
  
Bucky jolted, shifting on his ass and moving as close as he could to the bars on the other side. “What the hell did you do to him?”  
  
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Pierce hummed, “We’re trying to siphon his magic without killing him.” Bucky’s stomach dropped. “With any success, I’ll be able to stay alive, really alive, for many years to come and HYDRA can rise again.”  
  
“You’re insane. You can’t siphon magic, it’s not possible. And even if you could figure out a way to siphon it, he’d have to be with you, every single day. And even then, it will kill him.” Bucky was shouting, he knew, but this plan was insane and he couldn’t believe Pierce would even think of this. To Captain fucking America. “Even Familiars can’t fully siphon magic, only borrow it from their witch. It’s why I was slowing down in my Winter Soldier days, why you had put it in for them to retire me after the helicarriers launched.”  
  
“Oh, you slowing down wasn’t the only reason I planned to retire you. With the Helicarriers in place, we wouldn’t need you: the broken old toy, fixed once too many, never really working right.” There was a sigh. “Yes, I am afraid you are right, though, you can’t really siphon magic. But there are methods to tinker with the mind. You’re well aware of that, aren’t you, little cat?”  
  
Bucky felt fury rise in him like a tide, “Don’t you fucking dare put him through that. He does not deserve to be put in that chair.”  
  
“Well, we’ll find something, one way or another. All we really want is order, and order is achieved through pain, a lot of it in some cases.” Pierce stopped in front of the cage again and squatted and Bucky recoiled hard, the stench of death and liarbetrayerpain and rot flooded his nose making him gag while he stared in horror at the remainder of Alexander’s face. The right half of his face was eaten away, showing a white cheekbone and part of his empty eye socket, where there was only a dark hole where the eye should have sat.  
  
Pierce chuckled softly at his reaction, stood and headed for the door, but not without stopping by Steve’s chair, settling a hand, the index finger rotted away showing the bone of that as well, on the prone man’s arm. Bucky snarled and growled loudly, and Pierce hummed, “You’ll come back to me, or you’ll simply stay by his side, or mine, like the loyal dog you are.” He finally left, departing with another cruel chuckle.  
  
Bucky would never admit to anyone that he’d sobbed loud enough for it to echo when he and Steve were alone again.  
  
\--  
  
Bucky honestly had no idea how long he sat there, listening to the steady beeping of the EKG - so much slower than it should be - watching Steve’s eyes flicker behind closed lids, mouth moving as if he was whispering something. He was just out of earshot to hear it, but he could catch snippets, his name, his social number.  
  
There was no way of telling when the team would get there, he had acted rashly in getting here, stealing one of Tony’s private jets and a car when he landed, too focused on his fear of Steve being in harm’s way. Which he knows is stupid, Steve is Captain America, he put his life on the line every day, with or without Bucky there, he’ll go. With Bucky there, he was safer, he used that vibranium shield of his, spelled to always come back to him with a twitch of his fingers, he could use the stronger spells, could use it more often, the way they feed off each other, the thrill of battle and the magic. Bucky could protect him, stay by his side, where, as a lover, and a Familiar, was where he belonged. And he was there always on Steve’s shoulder or at his back, aiming down a sight with his rifle, and he couldn't lose that, it would kill him, figuratively and literally.  
  
The plan Pierce had was insane, truly, and by the slow EKG, it was already starting, the slow drain of Steve’s power, his magic, it would kill him, eventually. The best thing witches could ever offer for any kind of life extension, but this? Pierce was still dead, this halfway stage was something like Graveyard Sickness, there was no real cure unless you knew someone who dabbled heavily in dark magic, destruction, and death.  
  
It hit Bucky then if they held Steve for much longer, that’s what he’d be tricked into. He couldn’t imagine it, his perfect Steve, his everything, his world, taken into dark magic, just like Bucky had been.  
  
Watching Steve, he tried to call out again, get him to lift his head, look at him, to say his name, give that power back to him, but with the magic dampening cuffs on him, the collar, it was impossible.  
  
Bucky knew he couldn’t shift forms, get back into the true form of his feline, but he knew something Pierce didn’t: When Stark redesigned his arm, he made it detachable.  
  
It was really useful, he could take it off to sleep and he wouldn’t have to worry about the metal sapping warmth or being cold in the middle of some hot and heavy moments. If it got trapped under something heavy, like debris, he could detach and get away without further damage to himself. Stark told him straight out, “If it gets crushed, it gets crushed, the arm is replaceable, you are not.” It was oddly touching, but then he followed it up with: “Plus if you die, Capsicle won’t ever talk to me again.”  
  
He shifted himself as best he could, drawing his legs under him and turning around, swinging his metal arm around him and forcing his flesh hand into his armpit. He found the hidden plate and slid his finger across it, holding it there for a second. It was set to his fingerprint only, another handy little design just in case of situations like this one, plus a Russian key phrase, set to only his voice, so even if Pierce knew about it, he wouldn’t be able to get it off. There was a quiet click and a murmured, “Do konsta stroki”, and the arm sagged in its metal socket and it fell to the floor beside him.  
  
“Alright, one down, two to go,” he breathed, shifting his right hand, fingers around his thumb, and he huffed sharply as he pulled his thumb out of place and slid his hand through the cuff. A handy little trick Clint showed him. He hit his thumb against his bare thigh to realign it and reached up, thumbing the latch for the collar. He was grateful they didn’t lock it on, and he tossed it aside with a inhale of breath as his magic all rushed back to him, flowing freely with his witch in the same room. He had no room for any second thoughts, he had to get to Steve, make sure he was alright, and he moved onto his hand and knees.  
  
Shifting forms, for a familiar, was like breathing; One breath in, human, one breath out, animal. It wasn’t like werewolves with cracking bones and splitting skin, it was just as simple as changing clothes. He had been told once that it was actually slightly uncomfortable to watch, the way the air around him rippled and shifted and suddenly there’s a different form of him standing there. He turned his head back to where his left arm lay, nudged it to the edge of the bars, and climbed through them without much hassle.  
  
Human again, he grabbed his arm and found the keys hanging up by the door and undid the binding around the metal limb, reattached it and flexed the hand, finding everything back in working order. Thank the gods.  
  
With his own shit sorted, he moved, half shivering, to Steve’s side, pressing his fingers to Steve’s neck. He blinked at the EKG, then where his fingers lay under Steve’s jaw. That was… odd. Steve’s pulse seemed to be fine, despite the EKG reading a slow beat, the one under his fingers was fast and strong, just like it should have been. Something tugged at his instincts, telling him that something was wrong, but he pushed it aside in favor of pushing at Steve’s shoulder gently.  
  
“Hey, Stevie. C'mon, it’s Bucky. I’m here. We gotta get out of here. You awake? I feel like you’re fakin’ it.”  
  
Steve’s eyes fluttered then, and he lifted his head and his voice was surprisingly clear as he breathed out, “Bucky?”  
  
“Yeah, baby, it’s me. C’mon, I dunno when they’ll be back, we gotta get you out of here and call in the-”  
  
“Impello!” Steve cut him off with a strong burst of magical energy that threw Bucky back and into the cage he’d been in, landing hard on his back and falling forward on his knees as he got his breath back.  
  
Bucky coughed hard, groaning, suddenly wanting to roll over and show his belly, and carefully picked his way to his feet, leaning against the cage. “Shit, that hurt.” He turned his head back to Steve as the blond rose to his feet in a motion that seemed way too fluid, like the graceful feline movements Bucky had always possessed were suddenly transferred over to his master. “What the fuck was that, Steve? You using repel spells on me?” Bucky snapped out, trying, and sort of failing, to straighten out his back, to rise to his full height and show he wasn’t about to back down. “I’m your damn Familiar, what kinda witch repels their Familiar?”  
  
Steve’s voice was monotone when he replied, “If you are my Familiar, then come here, beside me, and kneel.”  
  
Bucky’s spine tingled and he gasped sharply, hand reaching back to clutch the metal as the magic held in his claim mark spread throughout his body, trying to get him to follow his witch’s order, to kneel beside his master like the Familiars of old lore.  
  
Bucky ground his teeth and hissed at him. “The only time I will ever kneel for you is when I’m suckin’ your cock, and I don’t even think you deserve that anymore,” Bucky growled out.  
  
“If you do not follow orders, then what good are you to me?” said Steve like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“You’ve never asked me to kneel for you. I’m your equal, Steve, never your slave.”  
  
Steve’s expression didn’t change, but there was a twitch in his eyebrows that said that Bucky’s answer was not what he wanted. “If you do not follow orders, then I do not need you. HYDRA has no need for disobedient soldiers.”  
  
Bucky stared at him, unsure if he was serious or not, ignoring the pain lancing through his back. “Don’t, don’t need me? You’re my witch, Steve, not only that, you’re my husband. You’re not HYDRA, you’re not even S.H.I.E.L.D., you’re just, you. Steve Rogers, my Captain America,” His voice was hushed, pained. The claim felt like it was coming undone, and it was painful, though he knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere without Steve’s word.  
  
“If you won’t bow to me, then what good are you?”  
  
“I really am too late, aren’t I?” Even to his own ears, Bucky sounded broken, tired, in pain, “They already put you in the chair. How’d they do it? Knock you out? Bind you? How did the stubborn punk I know bend at the knee to HYDRA, the people we’ve been fightin’ our whole lives?”  
  
“They fixed me,” Steve stated, his voice and his eyes empty, “I’m better, like this. I don’t need to be Captain America. I can do more as Captain Hydra, I can get results. And with you, the Winter Soldier,” Bucky felt slightly sick at the title, “back at my side, we could be so much more. We can heal Master Peirce and put HYDRA back on the map. We can change everything.”  
  
“I’ve already been there, done shit I ain’t proud of. I ain’t goin’ back.”  
  
Steve hummed, like he decided on something, “Why can’t you see we can be better together, Soldier? I keep Pierce alive, you keep me alive. We can fight S.H.I.E.L.D. together. We can have order. Peace.”  
  
“I’m not the Soldier,” Bucky growled out.  
  
“Yes, you are. You always will be. And if you won’t bow to me willingly, then I will make you.” In rough Russian, he started “Longing, Rust-”  
  
Bucky’s hearing was suddenly filled with white noise, static, loud enough to block out Steve’s use of the dreaded trigger spells. All he heard his heavy breathing, his heart slamming against his ribcage. Tony, - He really owed Tony a lot - had heard him out about some kind of noise canceling signal, should any HYDRA douche canoe tried to turn him back to their side. Like hearing aids, they were stuck in the ear, and were small enough not to be noticed, even when he changed forms, and were waterproof, in case he decided to go swimming, so he really never needed to take them out unless Tony needed to update them.  
  
The words, however, burned him, and Bucky glanced down to watch in growing horror as the words, the spells, they were suddenly seared against his right pectoral in a twisted brand of Russian lettering as Steve recited them in near-perfect Russian. He must have added a spell to do that, to disfigure him if he couldn’t get him to kneel.  
  
Soldier? Bucky watched Steve’s lips, and Bucky snarled at him, didn’t react.  
  
“Forgot about my toys, didn’t you?” Steve’s expression turned confused. “That shit don’t work on me anymore. But no, they only made you remember what they knew about me. They didn’t factor in that I got smart about it.”  
  
Steve blinked at him, confused, and looked a little nervous, actually. He glanced at the door, the only door, and seemed to say something, but Bucky wasn’t watching. Instead, he noticed the wobble before Steve did, and lurched forward as his Captain’s legs went out, bringing him to his knees and into Bucky, who grunted and fell backward on his ass with the sudden 250-pound weight on him.  
  
He deactivated the sound dampeners with a word and held onto Steve for a moment, who blinked blearily up at him like he didn’t understand how he got there. Bucky rolled his shoulder for a moment and tried not to think about how much magic Steve was trying to draw off him like he was trying to drain Bucky dry. And, the thing was, he could feel it too, his magic into Steve’s body, and then, just like that, it was being taken away by something more powerful, taking more than he had.  
  
“They’re killing you, Stevie, they will kill you. Havin’ me here won’t do a damn thing.” His voice was quiet, whispered, too loud in the quiet room with the false EKG. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the damn thing off. “Then what’s the point? Who is there to stop him?”  
  
Steve coughed a little, “No one, that’s the point. If I die, it is only a show of their power, that they can bring down America’s Captain.”  
  
“You’re a fucking idiot. But don’t you give up on me. I’ll get you out of this, even if I die tryin’.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Bucky glanced up at the door, “Cause you’re my best friend, my best guy. And I’d still follow you. The stubborn kid from Brooklyn, too dumb enough to run from a fight. That’s who I’ll follow. ‘Till the end of the line, kid.”  
  
Something lit up in Steve’s eyes, and his lips turned upwards, “Ain’t a kid,” he breathed.  
  
And there it was, the break in the careful mask HYDRA constructed.  
  
“No,” Bucky laughed softly, “But you’re still a punk.”  
  
It didn’t last much longer, Steve’s eyes slipped closed, breathing evening out, the rise and fall of is tattooed chest much too slow for his liking. He was asleep or passed out, or whatever, the strain of the take too much for him. Bucky pressed his flesh fingers against Steve’s neck, and it felt like he’d been dropped in ice again when he couldn’t find his pulse.  
  
He suddenly went frantic, trying to find it again, his wrist, his feet, nothing. He tipped his head back and screamed as the spell on his spine singed deeper, and he could feel the magic, the Consumption they called it, as it branched away from the lettering, leeching into his muscles and starting to burn a path through him. Familiars never lasted long after their claimed witch died, and he could feel it, that was happening now. With Steve’s slowing throb of his heart, the magic that bound them together was going to kill him. And never has it been a fast process.  
  
Bucky remembered from his Winter Soldier days, the time when all that mattered was his target through his scope or under his knife, he would kill witches, defectors, betrayers to the HYDRA cause, and then he’d wait, per orders, for their Familiar to die too, and if they tried to run for help, he'd kill them too. It looked painful, the binding spell coming undone as the Consumption did its job, wherever the spell had been, it spread from there. It was like a plague, little lines of poison that would sap every ounce of strength until they were nothing but a husk. No one cared about Familiars, the bodies would be burned once found, fear of people finding out about people with magic and powers, fear of people in high positions being found out, their personal assistant was a magic demon bound to their boss.  
  
It had always looked painful, and it was, now that he could feel it for himself. Painful wasn’t the right word, really. It felt like he was burning from the inside out, the magic scorching its way through him.  
  
But Bucky had never been the one to lay down and take dying. Oh, no, he had a score to settle.  
  
He shifted himself out from under Steve’s body, and settled one hand over his still chest, fingers dancing over the tattooed and scarred runes that he’d had before he met Bucky, and he looked up at the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Someone must have heard the screaming, the fight, he was sure there were cameras, somewhere too, and he imagined Pierce watching with a sort of smug look on his half-dead face, possibly chewing on popcorn for the first time in a year and a half.  
  
Bucky stood at his full height, not that tall to be intimidating, but the expression on his face was something else, murderous for the first time since he got his own brain back. With the black roots of magic condemning him, making his lungs hurt and his legs ache, stretching from his back in a slow crawl waiting for the final beat of his witch, he looked like what you would think from a dark magic witch, a twisted and lost soul.  
  
He bared his teeth in a snarl as the door opened and leaned down, dropping to his four paws in a fluid motion, his jaw open to huff heavily. His height was different than it had been before, not the foot tall Maine Coon and not the five foot nine soldier either, but something in between. He stood over Steve, confused as to why he could this time, confused as to why he felt so much stronger.

The two agents that walked in, turned from each other, caught in the middle of a joke and stopped dead, the click of their rifles making his ears flick forward.  
  
“Dude,” one said over the huffing growl, “I thought you said he was a cat.”  
  
“He is,” stuttered the other one.  
  
“A house cat. You said a house cat, not a fucking lion!”  
  
Bucky let out a deafening roar and the agents shrieked, fiddling with their rifles as Bucky stalked towards them, one heavy paw after the other; a soft thud followed by a clunk of metal.  
  
Thump-clink, Thump-clink.  
  
Finally one of them raised his rifle to his eye and Bucky snarled at him, the rational part of his brain blacking out as the muzzle was pointed at his nose.  
  
These people hurt his witch, they took him and ruined him, turned him into a mindless soldier like Bucky used to be. Wanda could help him, sure, she had for Bucky, but what kind of trauma would be left. How many nights a week will he wake with nightmares, sending the Tower into a panic because of a false alarm? Will he stop and ask for orders, call an agent his handler, forget who he is in the middle of a conversation? Is that what would happen? Is this what he would become, a shell of the beautiful man he was? If he survived, that was the best scenario, Bucky supposed.  
  
If Steve died - When he died, they would find each other in the next life, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be easier.  
  
There was gunfire and the smell of copper and ozone and smoke and he was sure he was bleeding from somewhere, but it didn’t matter. His breathing came in sharp huffs and his limbs ached, and he clenched his eyes shut to try and clear his head, to give him back the control over his form, over his magic.  
  
He lifted a paw and looked at it, shifting his weight onto the metal one, and watched the unfamiliar lion’s paw flex and relax, forcing red covered claws out and back in. He turned his eyes up to the reflection of the window, settling back on all four, and, in between the bodies of the agents and Steve’s silence, he stared.  
  
Now, Bucky had always resented his Familiar form, the small housecat, but it had been his secondary skin all his life. He loved it when Steve brushed him, would let him curl up around his shoulders while he sketched, could lay in the sun without being judged by the neighbors if he did it naked, but he was always small. He wished he had been something cool, like the owl that suddenly appeared on Morita after they got them out of Zemo’s factory, or the German Shepard dog that followed Colonel Phillips around while he convinced the whole camp it was a stray - it was one of the soldiers, actually, only Bucky knew. - but he’d always been feline. It had its perks, being quick-footed to scout ahead and use that vision-link or to simply climb trees that were too high for human Bucky to get into on his own.  
  
But what stared back at him now wasn’t the little sleek furred black cat with the blue eyes, it was a full-maned lion, black fur broken up by lettering on his breast and his spine. The branching lines of plague were white against his dark fur, stretching over his flanks and up his tail, under the bushy mane he sported and began on his face. He was five feet of pure muscle, standing strong despite his depleting strength, his ears high and his muzzle splattered with sticky red. It covered his mix-matched paws and dripped from his jaw, teeth stained with it like a reminder, and when he licked his nose, he could taste it, the burn all the way down.  
  
It baffled him, Familiars only had two forms their whole life, but at the same time, he’d always heard old lore about dark witches and their equally as dark Familiars, and all of them had some kind of twisted creature, a big one, something dangerous, a tiger, a bear, a feral wolf. His anger, his pain morphed him into something he wasn’t, and he should have felt ashamed of himself, really, for letting it go this far, but really, he was dying, Steve was dying. Why not go out with a bang.  
  
Bucky’s ears flicked over and he turned his heavy head and golden eyes towards the door again, growling low in his throat as the stench of death flooded his nose before Pierce even stepped into the room. When he finally did step in, he didn’t look up, too busy stepping over rivers of hot blood and trying not to get his shoes dirty. When Pierce did look up, there was a brief moment of surprise before he looked both impressed and unimpressed all at once. Bucky lowered his head with a dark snarl, baring his blood stained teeth as he padded over, putting himself in front of where Steve lay, crouched low, ears back.  
  
Pierce pursed whatever was left of his lips. “I guess using the Captain was a vision that was short lived. Damn, and after the week of conditioning we did for him.” Bucky growled louder, and Pierce shrugged his shoulders. “We had plans to do more. What better way than to topple a country than to take its national hero and use it against them.” He shifted on his feet, and looked over Bucky for a moment, “And you, Barnes, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? Blocking out your triggers, and this new form, I have to say, it’s nicer than your useless house cat.”  
  
Bucky growled, the rolling thunderstorm in his throat cracking with each breath like lightning and he took a heavy step forward with the metal and it clunked, the inner servos calibrating the movement of the foreleg.  
  
“But even you won’t last much longer, will you?” Pierce continued, humming thoughtfully as his one eye surveyed the white lines, “No, Familiars never do.” He sounded so pleased with himself, so proud and Bucky snapped his jaws and snarled at him. Pierce was largely unimpressed, and ignored the display, looking around at the bodies again and then back to Steve. “How long do you think you’ll last, Barnes, without him? You ever think about that? The studies you brought us showed that it could take up to two days. Can you imagine? Being cut off from your life force for two whole days? A slow and painful death, I can imagine.”  
  
Bucky wondered, briefly, how long Pierce would keep talking, if he enjoyed the sound of his own voice or he was just trying to egg the Familiar on or stall him so reinforcements could come to his aid.  
  
“Shame he didn’t last much longer,” Pierce continued, checking his watch like he had nothing to worry about, “I really thought with his strength, he would. And then with you at his feet…”  
  
Bucky drowned him out after that, roaring for a short beat to cut his words off, not that he was saying anything important anyway, and Pierce stared at him, annoyed. He had enough, more than enough. Enough torture, enough pain, enough fear. If Bucky didn’t stop him now, he’d find some other witch to drain slowly and kill. The man in front of him had personally overseen his torture, had encouraged it, had stolen away the memories of his own witch and kept him from a life he could have lived.  
  
With another short bellow, he sprang, paws slamming against the floor once before he was on Pierce, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him with a crunch of brittle bones. Pierce wheezed heavily and stared up once he was on his back, pain in his remaining eye, watching the great lion as it watched him right back. Bucky’s ears twitched forward towards the door, and he glanced up as agents stormed past, but didn’t stop to come in. Was someone else here?  
  
“HYDRA will never truly be gone,” the old man grunted, “Cut off one head -”  
  
Bucky lunged down and bit down around his throat, ripping it out, silencing him once and for all. Bucky doubted anyone could come back from that, magic or no magic. The flesh and blood was disgusting, tasting like gasoline and rot on his tongue. It filled his mouth and ran down his throat and he gagged on it, wrenching his head back and hacking off to the side.  
  
But the job was done, Pierce was dead.  
  
His breath heaved as he turned, limping off of the dead man, body shuddering with pain as his form shifted again, and his two legs felt weak and he fell hard beside where Steve lay. He leaned his back against the chair, his shaking, bloodstained hands pulling Steve into his lap and wincing as the weight pushed on a lodged bullet. He didn’t care, it would be over soon, wouldn’t it?  
  
Black veins crawled over his skin as he sat there, clutching Steve’s body, his body jerking hard as heavy sobs made his whole body shake. “I’m sorry, Stevie,” he babbled, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t protect you.” He was bleeding heavily from three bullet wounds and a cut on his shoulder he didn’t remember getting. Every vein felt like fire, the knockoff Rebirth serum HYDRA gave him trying and failing, to heal these wounds. He was covered in blood, his front caked in it from his mouth to his belly, and every breath hurt like more knives digging under his skin.  
  
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Steve was gone and he’d follow soon and there wouldn’t be any more pain. He could handle it for a little longer.  
  
\--  
  
_Buck._  
  
When Bucky first heard his name, he thought he’d died already.  
  
He picked his head up, and forced himself not to put it back down and just, go to sleep for a while, and looked around for a moment, movements slow and sluggish.  
  
_Bucky._  
  
The second one startled him, a quiet, breathy whisper of his name and Bucky contorted himself to press his ear against Steve’s chest.  
  
_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._  
  
It was faint, but getting stronger, faster, and hope bloomed in Bucky’s chest. He leaned up and looked at Steve’s face, watched his eyelids flutter and his lips form Bucky’s name, again and again, a prayer, a spell. Bucky glanced at his hands, shocked to find the black roots beginning to recede, instead of growing further, and it was happening all over.  
  
Steve was okay. Bucky would be okay. No one was dying today.  
  
A whistled song made him lift his head and, from the door, flew a bluebird, little head twitching as it circled once over them.  
  
“Hey Riles,” Bucky breathed, barely batting an eye when the bluebird shifted forms, landing on his feet in front of them, crouching to take the landing. He took a painful breath, “How’s life?”  
  
Riley snorted softly, “Better than yours,” he replied, pale eyes dancing over the fading black lines under all the blood.  
  
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bucky said, offering a wry smile.  
  
Riley returned it, flashing straight white teeth, then pressed his ear, “Hey Sam, I got ‘em, southeast holding room. They need medical. A lot of it.”  
  
Bucky couldn’t catch Sam’s reply, but then Riley said, “Babe, you realize cats eat birds, right? I quite like my feathers where they are.”  
  
Bucky heaved a painful laugh, turned his head and coughed, spitting out a clump of blood, then turned back to Riley, who watched them with a careful eye. It was still considered taboo for a claimed Familiar to touch another Familiar’s witch, which Bucky assumed was what Riley was thinking at the moment, and as much as he wanted to tell Riley that it was okay, he couldn’t find the words.  
  
“We’ll get you guys out of here, okay?” the Familiar assured, but Bucky was slipping, his head falling forward as the exhaustion and blood loss finally took him over.  
  
~~  
  
A week later, Bucky woke with a jerk, sitting up suddenly before his vision completely cleared up and he could see. Clint was there and was up on his feet as soon as Bucky sat up, coming over and gently pressing at the flesh shoulder.  
  
He took a sweep of the room, medical, going by the white frosted glass walls and comfortable seating Stark had paid top dollar for. The room was small, but private, a door in the wall to his right probably to another medical room. The EKG started an alarm as his heart slammed against his chest and his breathing came in gasps. Nightmares again. Clint reached up and hit a button on the screaming machine to silence it.  
  
“Where’s Steve?” was the first thing out of Bucky’s mouth, his voice rough as he leaned back to put weight on the metal, only to find it not there. He dropped back to the bed with a soft cry and writhed slightly. Clint took pity on him, and pressed the button, putting Bucky’s bed into a slightly seated position.  
  
“He’s in the room next to us,” said Clint, blue eyes gentle, if not a little worried, “He’s fine.”  
  
“They put him in that chair, the one they put me into,” Bucky sniffed, suddenly emotional.  
  
“I know,” there was pity in those eyes, and Bucky hated it, “They didn’t get far, not like,” with you, “Wanda is doing her best to take it all out, but it’s a hard process.”  
  
Bucky nodded slowly, and rubbed at his face, and groaned softly at the way his arm ached. Everything ached, really and truly ached. And he finally glanced at himself where the blanket had slipped down. His chest was wrapped tightly, a thick gauze pad over his right pectoral, over his sides and under the blanket that was folded in his lap.  
  
“How bad was I off?” Bucky finally asked.  
  
Clint grimaced a little, “You had a blessed silver wound in your left hip. And four bullets of the same stuff. I’m surprised that alone hadn’t killed you, actually. Not to mention the toxicity. Or the Consumption.”  
  
“I was already dying from the Consumption, it didn’t matter,” Bucky sniffed, turning his head. It made sense they would be using blessed silver weapons, Familiars were demons, it was really the only kind of weapon that could injure them.  
  
“It matters,” Clint insisted.  
  
There was a long pause before, “Can I see him?”  
  
Clint shook his head, “Not right now. He’s still out. When he wakes up, you can.”  
  
“When will he wake up?”  
  
“Not sure. Though with Wanda working on his head, though, it’s better he’s out.”  
  
Bucky sighed a little, nodded.  
  
Another pregnant pause, “You wanna talk about it?”  
  
“Pierce was there,” Bucky murmured and Clint swore, “Had me in a cage, strapped a collar on me like I was an animal.”  
  
“We are animals,” Clint pointed out.  
  
“You know what I meant,” Bucky huffed, “Steve, he,” he swallowed hard, reached up and felt over the gauze pad, “Stark’s aids stopped the triggers from working, but -”  
  
Clint held up his hand, “I, I saw. I’m sorry.”  
  
“They took my Steve and warped him. Steve would have never used those words against me. He never even knew them. He tried to make me kneel for him like I was nothing but some slave.” Magic crackled at his fingertips and Clint raised his hands in surrender.  
  
“You’re not his slave,” said Clint, “Witches ain’t like that anymore. Especially not Steve. And Steve’s not just your witch.”  
  
“I know, I know, it just. I wanted to. If it hadn’t been such a shock, I would have gone to him.”  
  
Clint hummed, “The claim spells are powerful, always have been. But we’re people, not just demons, not just a witch’s Familiar.”  
  
“Another thing,” Bucky added, and Clint looked up, “I turned into a lion.”  
  
“A lion?”  
  
“That whole thing about dark witches having familiars out of the norm? Bears, tigers, wolves? The darkness of their witch, or the Familiar itself, it manifests as a third form.”  
  
Clint stared at him. “A third form?”  
  
“I was so angry,”  
  
“You had every right to be.”  
  
Bucky hummed softly and fell silent. After another few minutes, “Can I have a moment?”  
  
Clint was on his feet in an instant, nodding, “Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ll be right next door okay?”  
  
“Thanks, Clint.”  
  
“No problem, us Familiars gotta look out for each other.” He then pushed through the door and vanished into the room where Steve was, and he heard Natasha softly greet her familiar.  
  
Bucky lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and tried not to think too much. He ended up upping his morphine and going back to sleep a few hours later.  
  
\--  
  
Two weeks dragged by, slow and tortuous, trying to not rip out his fingernails or hurt somebody else as he was kept from Steve. Even though only a wall away, he wasn’t allowed in to see him. There was a dull ache in his ribs, everything still hurt, but it was a minor thing compared to everything that happened. The pain was a constant, anyhow, something to focus on instead of how he got it all.  
  
It was Natasha who gave him the green light to see Steve, Clint coming to his side and offering his arm. Bucky took it gratefully, and wrapped his only arm around him, using the other Familiar as a crutch to help him walk the few steps to the door. He could walk, he’d gotten to the bathroom by himself fairly well in the last week, but he was grateful for the extra help, feeling his legs shaking with the idea that he’ll be seeing Steve again.  
  
Clint left Bucky at the door after Bucky assured him he’d be fine, and the soldier pushed open the door quietly, eyes immediately drawn to Steve’s form on the bed. Steve’s eyes were closed, and for a brief moment, he panicked, fearing Steve hadn’t woken up yet, and the Consumption would start again.  
  
Natasha cleared her throat quietly and Bucky looked up at her from where he leaned on the door frame. “He’s taking a nap,” she explained, “He woke up this morning, but has been in and out most of the day. I figured it was better to let him rest.”  
  
Bucky nodded, and stepped carefully further into the sunlit room, feeling oddly jealous that Steve got the window room. Other than the windows, the room was identical to Bucky’s, though seemed more lived in, god knows how long Wanda and Natasha sat here beside him, trying to dig through his head.  
  
“Well, I was taking a nap,” Steve muttered, sounding highly irritated as his shifted his head and very pointedly kept his eyes closed.  
  
Natasha ignored him, and dropped her voice to a whisper, “He’ll have some lapses, but nothing major. They tried but didn’t get anything important. They didn’t have him that long.”  
  
“That’s the lucky part,” Bucky hummed.  
  
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” she finished, and, as she passed, patted Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky inhaled sharply at the flash of unfamiliar magic. Witches touching another witch’s Familiar was beyond taboo, it acted like a static shock to both parties, though more powerful. Sparing with her was really fun, seeing how many shocks they could take before yielding. She pulled her hand away and shot him an apologetic expression, and slipped out the door without another word.  
  
“Finally, she’s gone,” Steve huffed, opening his eyes and sitting up on the bed, reaching over to grab his water bottle sitting on the bedside table. He froze when he noticed Bucky standing there in nothing but pants, his torso wrapped in a thin layer of bandages including the one over his right pec, and retracted his arm, settling his hands in his lap. “Hi,” Steve said dumbly.  
  
Bucky smiled despite himself, “Hey, punk.” Bucky moved around, sitting heavily in the empty chair, groaning softly and reaching around with his hand to hold at his side.  
  
“You’re hurt?”  
  
“Great observation skills, Stevie,” Bucky huffed out, straightening himself out.  
  
Steve looked pained, “Did I do that?”  
  
Bucky’s head jerked up, “No, no, baby, you didn’t do this to me.”  
  
“What did I do?”  
  
“I’d rather not get into it right after you’ve woken up,” Bucky replied softly.  
  
Steve pressed the button on his bed, lifting the head so he could lean back. Then, “That bad?”  
  
“It was pretty bad. You almost released me.” Steve swore and Bucky smiled, a little sadly.  
  
“Buck, you know I can’t live without you.”  
  
“This you can’t. But,” Bucky swallowed, “HYDRA you can.”  
  
“Christ, Buck, I’m sorry.”  
  
Bucky shook his head, “Don’t be, it happened. You nearly released me, I killed a few people. Things happened we ain’t proud of.”  
  
They fell into an awkward silence, both of them looking highly uncomfortable. Steve reached over and finally got his water, taking a drink while Bucky rubbed absently on his left ribs.  
  
Steve finally took a breath, “We’re still married, right?” he asked, and Bucky snorted. “I mean, this is something, normal people would break up over, attacking their partner.”  
  
“It wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”  
  
“But I still did it. Whatever it was.”  
  
Bucky shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. It’s like what you said about me when I came back to you. We didn’t really have a choice, HYDRA forced our hands. If we were in our right minds at the time, there was no way in hell we would have done what we did.”  
  
Steve slid his gaze over to him, and sighed softly, and held his hand out. Bucky slipped his palm into his, and held it tight, smiling softly. “We’re gonna be okay, right?” Steve asked gently.  
  
Bucky glanced away, thinking, then, “Yeah, I think we’ll be fine. ‘Till the end of the line, right?”  
  
Steve let out a chuckle, “Yeah, Buck, ‘till the end of the line.”  
  
It would take some time, but they knew they would be fine. They could handle anything that this world threw at them, just like they always had.

**Author's Note:**

> "Do konsta stroki" means "until the end of the line"


End file.
